The Vanishing
by Startled Boris
Summary: A conference in a spooky Scottish castle goes wrong when the Nations start to disappear one by one. Who or what is kidnapping the Nations? Silliness, creepiness, swearing, innuendo, starring all the usual Nations.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Hetalia and its characters were recreated by Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**The Vanishing**

**Genre: Mystery/thriller/humour (I hope)**

**Characters: UK, US, Russia, France, Spain, Austria, Italy, Germany, Denmark, Finland, Sweden, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Japan..**

**Synopsis: A conference in a spooky Scottish castle goes wrong when the Nations start to disappear one by one. Who or what is kidnapping the Nations? **

**This story is by special request from a few readers - an adaptation from a story in Arthur Kirkland's Diary, but this time written in the third person with some surprises...**

Chapter 1: The Arrival

"See that girl, watch her scream, kicking the Dancing Queen... Damn strange lyrics... Now where the bloody hell is this bloody castle?"

The speaker was of course Arthur Kirkland, personification of England. He stopped his 1957 Bentley at a crossroads and ruffled his blond hair. He was on his way to a conference and was feeling very put out. The conference was taking place in Scotland at a castle designated by his brother, Hamish, who had, in Arthur's words 'thrown a hissy fit' insisting on hosting the next Nations Conference in his beloved 'Bonny Scotland'. So be it, Arthur had thought, and he can bloody well pay for it. But Arthur was beginning to regret giving in to his mad older brother. He liked Scotland, he visited at least twice a year, but the weather was, if possible, even more unpredictable than his own country's. The temperature had read a barmy 66 degrees on his smartphone thingy, but now read an ominous 50 and a murky fog was settling around him.

"Turn left at the next roundabout," Darth Vader's voice told him on his sat nav.

"This isn't a roundabout," Arthur told the device.

"Turn left at the roundabout," the sat nav told him again.

"I'm fed up of you, your instructions have been wrong the whole bloody way," Arthur said. In actual fact, he had not taken enough notice of the instructions, believing his own sense of direction was enough. And had thus gone at least 150 miles out of his way.

There was a loud honking behind him.

"Bloody tourists," Arthur muttered, "No bloody respect any more." He patted the steering wheel, "Come on Bessie, old girl, we'll pull over and look at a map," he said and started the engine. The old car spluttered into life, blue smoke chugged out of the exhaust and then 'poof' the engine died.

"Sod," England said and turned the key again.

Behind him, the honking increased.

"Sod off," he yelled, winding down the window.

He looked in the rear view mirror and all he could see was black metal. He frowned. There was tapping on his drivers window. He wound the window down (1950s Bentleys did not have electric windows).

"Yo Artie dude! Why are you driving this museum piece? What is this anyway? It looks like it's just died..."

Arthur summoned up the rage of a 1000 year old very cross ex-Empire. "Bloody America! This is my beloved Bentley! This is a classic car! Not your bloody American rubbish."

"Well it might be some classic antique rubbish, but it's not working is it?" America pointed out.

"Damn and blast..."

"Do you want a lift in my hire car, man?"

Arthur looked at the huge black vehicle America was 'driving'. It was a Hummer.

"What the bloody hell is that thing? It's totally unsuitable for British roads, it looks like it should be in a war zone!"

"Hell yeah, man!" America yelled.

"Stop shouting!"

"So do you want a lift or not?" America asked, a little quieter.

"I suppose so," Arthur said, and with much reluctance, he got his battered old suitcase out of the Bentley's boot/trunk. "Dear Lord, I hope nobody sees me in this wretched thing."

"Mr England! Are you having a problemo with your vehicle?" came an excitable but happy voice behind them.

"Oh no..." England muttered, "He's bloody early."

"Feliciano! Dude! Look at Arty's car, man! It broke... it's probably even older than him," America all but yelled.

Italy waved at them from the driver's seat of a red Lamborghini, "Mr England, Mr England! Do you want a lift with me and Mr Japan?" He yelled, waving maniacally.

"Well..." England weighed up his options - America and his huge Humbug or whatever it was called or Italy's bright red low-slung sports car which England thought once he'd got himself in, he wouldn't be able to get out.

His decision was made for him.

Japan fell out of the passenger seat, shaking and pale. "Italy-kun, your driving is atrocious! I am severely disturbed. I do not think I can continue."

"A bit over-dramatic, Japan old chap," England said, shoved his battered suitcase into the Lamborghini's trunk (he was a little concerned that there were no back seats in the car) and climbed into the passenger seat. "It's a little..." he began but didn't finish his sentence as Italy put his foot on the gas pedal and they shot off.

* * *

><p>England was right - he did have trouble getting out of the car. America had to help him, Italy just stood looking helpless and biting his lip, waving his arms around like a windmill. Japan laid on the ground hugging the gravel and saying something about mad drivers.<p>

"Damn and blast it, Alfred. You nearly pulled my bloody arms out of their sockets!"

"I sure did!"

England straightened up with as much dignity as he could muster after being hauled out of the bucket seats of the Italian sports car. It had taken America at least twenty minutes to drag him out.

Arthur felt that his spine would never straighten. He looked up at the castle looming in front of them. It was a less well known castle on the tourist trail, a dark forbidding air clung to it. The stonework looked as if it had seen better days (probably Edward the Third's days, Arthur thought) and the some of the window panes were broken. He sighed.

"Ach, yer bloody early!" came a strong Scottish accent.

"Hamish," England sighed.

"Aye, I am..." the Scotsman said, wiping his hands on his kilt.

Hamish was the personification of Scotland, England's elder brother and, in his eyes, should have been the rightful personification of Great Britain, the United Kingdom. But he wasn't. "Yer all too bloody early. I havenae got the rooms ready yet and my haggis isn't oot of the oven yet. Yer might have to go and do some shopping, Arthur, cos I havenae had time... My back's playing up..."

England was appalled, "You didn't hire any staff did you? You cheapskate!"

Alfred, however, was confused, "What did he say, man?"

Italy was amazed, "Wow, you understood him, Mr England? You must be really clever! That was crazy language."

"Where are we anyway?" America asked.

"Chillingley House," England said.

"I thought this was a castle!" America said, utterly disappointed, "You promised a castle!"

"It is a castle... but it's called a house," England said.

"Your language is crazy!" Italy said. He was distracted from saying any other stupidity by his phone vibrating. "Luddy is on his way!"

"I thought he was coming tomorrow? Why is everyone arriving today? I said to arrive Saturday... what day is it today, Alfred?"

"Saturday..."

"I think, my good man, you will find it is Friday," Arthur said.

"Aye and they weren't supposed to be coming til tomorrow - bloody foreigners!" Scotland all but yelled and slammed back into the castle/house, the large 10 foot oak door slamming behind him - but not before Alfred and Arthur heard the words "I havenae had time to get the exorcist."

"Exorcist? Is that like the movie?" Alfred asked, going a little pale.

"He's been visiting your south coast, Mr England," Italy said, reading his phone screen.

"The exorcist has been visiting Bournemouth?" England said, utterly confused.

"There's a ghost?" America asked.

"No, Luddy-kins has been visiting your South Coast." Italy said with a big smile.

"Oh has he? He bloody did that in 1940... the bloody sod." England grumbled, leading the way up the stone steps to the entrance.

"Who? The ghost?" Alfred asked. He looked up at the castle windows, the tangled ivy, the gargoyles glaring down at him and shivered.

"No, Germany." Italy said, waving his arms around.

"Germany is a ghost?" Alfred asked, completely confused and clutching his Disney suitcase.

"There are no ghosts!" England shouted, "Now come on, blokes. Let's just go in."

But they were shoved aside by two forces of nature.

"Get out of the way, losers! Coming through, two man party pack! I bet you were thinking we weren't coming. Kesese!"

"Damn it all, what in the name of my Aunt Alice are you two doing here?" England was appalled. In fact, England was going to be appalled a lot this weekend.

"We were invited!" Denmark said, humping two dozen crates of beer after Prussia.

"He bloody wasn't. He's a bloody hooligan, nuisance and general vagabond. Why in the name of cricket would I invite him to my country?" England said, pointing at Gilbert.

"Because I'm fucking awesome man!"

"It's not your bloody country!" came a Scottish voice deep in the bowels of the castle.

"Damn..." England muttered, shoving them through the doorway.

"Is there really a ghost in here?" America muttered to England.

"Well there bloody won't be any now will there?" England said as Prussia stomped up the huge staircase, yelling at Denmark (his supposed 'best mate and drinking partner') to follow him.

"No... there's not one ghost here in this here old castle..." Scotland said, suddenly appearing behind America.

America almost leapt into England's arms, but then relaxed.

Scotland sniggered as he took a large swig of his Scotch whisky, "There's at least five!" he said and laughed, horridly and then staggered off.

"I hope he doesn't get bloody drunk..." England muttered and shoved America out of the way.

However, Italy was equally worried, "I wish Luddy was here..." he whined.

"Bloody foreigners," England muttered, stepping inside the cold and damp huge hallway of the castle. He hoped to God that the others wouldn't arrive just yet. His hopes were dashed.

"We saw mad fat commie bastard and two Vikings on the way here," Prussia yelled down the stairs to England and then he yelled, "Fuckin' hell, man. What a shithole! This is worse than Austria's place - I thought he was a stingy bastard... this is freezing. We should have bombed this in the war. Hey Den - beer me!"

The latter remark presumably meant that Denmark was to provide Prussia with a can of beer. England was appalled but was too busy digesting the first comment.

"Russia?! And Vikings? What do you bloody mean by Vikings?" England spluttered. He really needed a cup of tea now. Images of Jorvik and Viking raids back in the 10th Century entered his head and he shoved past a gibbering Italian and a prone Japanese man (Kiku was lying on the floor) and went back outside.

Prussia's foghorn voice echoed down the 16th Century staircase and hit England in the ear, "They were stood next to the road, their hire car had broken down. They were being totally unawesome man!"

Denmark must have said something to him, because Prussia said, "Well... I don't believe in Santa - saying Fin is unawesome doesn't mean he won't visit me this year... Yeah I have been good, I bloody have!"

England narrowed his eyes and looked down the drive and spotted what could only be described as a disaster on wheels - the 'car' Prussia and Denmark had arrived in had duct tape holding one of the wings to the remainder of the car, the exhaust pipe was trailing on the gravel and there was a nasty smell of burning. It was evident that they'd stolen it from some unfortunate person as it was emblazoned with "Lowestoft Driving School" along one side and a battered huge red 'L' on the roof. England shuddered. "You stole this car! I'm going to call the police!" he yelled.

"We borrowed it, the guy didn't want it, did he, Den?" Prussia yelled from an upstairs window.

England shook his head and, much against his own reasoning and propriety, shouted back up to him, "Whereabouts were Finland, Sweden and Russia?"

"By the road, man!" Prussia shouted back.

"Which road?"

"That little bendy one - we followed Alfie on it for a bit - he didn't see us in his big fuckoff Hummer."

"That was the A1!" England said, utterly appalled.

England turned back to the 'house' to find his cup of tea.

Ten minutes later, England was further appalled. Scotland was comatose on the kitchen table, clutching a bottle of Malt Whisky and singing 'Scotland the Brave'. Arthur had been hoping against hope that the Scotsman could keep order (most of the Nations were wary of Hamish - a) because they didn't understand his thick Glaswegian accent and b) because he could outdrink even Russia and Denmark).

He was wrong. He was to be even more appalled when he heard a rabble outside. He poked his head out of the kitchen window and watched in horror as a tiny, bright green (the same colour Kiku's face had turned when he'd stepped out of America's car, England thought) Fiat pulled up erratically on the driveway.

The small Fiat, surely not designed to carry two Vikings, a large Russian and a dozy Spaniard, promptly seemed to collapse - in fact two of its tyres burst.

England watched, utterly puzzled. Why did they insist on putting the two largest Nations - Sweden and Russia - both strapping 6 footers in the back of such a tiny car? England shook his head, ignoring Scotland's medley of Scottish folk songs behind him.

Spain was now stood watching with a gormless grin on his face as Sweden attempted to squeeze himself out of the tiny car. Finland was pulling him by the arms. England didn't know what happened next, but surmised that Russia (still stuck in the car) had said something sinister, as Sweden suddenly shot out of the car and was stood glowering with an axe in his hand.

"Bloody vikings," England muttered but watched, utterly fascinated anyway.

The way in which Russia eventually extricated himself from the tiny Fiat was interesting to say the least. England winced as the back window was smashed and then one of the front seats was thrown out of the car and Russia practically fought his way out and stood on the driveway brandishing a piece of plumbing.

Sweden glowered at him.

Russia glowered back.

Finland stood between the two 6 foot Arctic Nations and seemed to be trying to placate them.

Spain stood to one side smiling goofily.

Before yet another Russo-Swedish War could be started, everyone looked up at a disturbance in the air - out of England's sightline.

England "humphed" to himself, glared at Scotland in disgust and then stomped out.

The 'disturbance' was a helicopter hovering in the air. The door opened and Arthur saw a pallid looking Frenchman who he knew as the French Government's Assistant Ambassador to the UK peering out. Pierre Lucont was a man on the edge, a man now addicted to Prozac and cognac (the only things that got him through the day), a man who was prematurely aged. He was the man whose job it was to deal with Francis, the great Nation of Le France, when he was in Britain. He hated his job. Yet no-one else would do it. The helicopter was now barely ten feet above the ground and Pierre gave the figure next to him a push.

Francis landed rather elegantly (like a bloody cat, England thought) onto the lawn and rolled like the parachutist he really wasn't. He got to his feet and waved at the departing helicopter and the relieved face of Pierre, "Au revoir mon cher! I know you love me! It was really not my fault that the large turnip in my hand poked that large lady up the derriere at Heathrow!"

England shuddered. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" he said.

"That is your greeting to me, Angleterre?" Francis asked, brushing himself down and then proceeding to brush down England.

England shoved him away, "Get off me, frog! I didn't just fall out of a bloody helicopter!"

"I did not fall, mon ami! I descended with graceful dignity!"

"It looked like you were pushed by that worried looking man," Finland butted in.

"Pushed? Of course I was not pushed! Who would push me? I, the great Le France?"

"Dear Lord."

"A lot of people would push you..." Russia said quietly and then smiled creepily.

"Right-o, everyone! Let's all get inside..." England said hurriedly.

"Ah oui... I will get inside... somebody's pants!" France exclaimed with a leer, dodging past Russia.

"Bloody hell! Has anyone got any bromide?" England said.

It was some time later that the first of England's 'bright ideas' went disastrously wrong.

He'd hoped that Scotland could be relied on to hire staff to help out - he hadn't.

He'd hoped that Scotland had bought food in to cater for the attendees - he hadn't.

He'd hoped that Scotland could be relied on to stay relatively sober to help him out - he didn't.

So, England decided, whilst the Nations who'd already arrived were exploring the castle (in their various and unique ways) to pin a notice on the fridge.

"Good afternoon everybody, and welcome to Scotland.. Yes I know Scotland is unconscious at the moment... but welcome anyway... Please feel free to make yourselves at home... but not too much." England felt some trepidation at this and hesitated but then continued. "You will notice that this fridge contains some bare provisions..." (It actually contained whisky, a can of Irn Bru that England did not dare move and some very out of date milk.) "... however, I will be making a trip to the local supermarket so if you require more specific provisions, please detail them on the sheet below. Warm regards, Arthur Kirkland." (England gritted his teeth when he wrote warm regards.)

He then informed Italy - the biggest chatterbox - who was currently gazing in awe at the portraits of various bad-tempered looking Scottish Lairds - to tell the others that an important notice was pinned to the fridge in the kitchen. Italy nodded enthusiastically and hurried off, eager to please.

England turned to go, and stopped - did the eyes of that portrait just move? He stopped and stared at the painting of a particularly bilious-looking 6th Earl of Coldbottom. He remembered this Earl - Gordon Coldbottom - an exceptionally bad-tempered and mean-spirited 17th Century Earl who fought against the English and then against his own Scots people and basically pissed off everybody in the British Isles, although England thought the painter had captured the man's grumpiness - the eyes were wrong and looked too 'nice'.

England shrugged, it had been a long day and went up to his room, hoping he wasn't sharing with America - again. The boy would be a nightmare if he thought the castle was haunted. He shivered, still with the feeling that eyes were following him. "Damned painting... creepy..." he muttered to himself.

However, the island Nation did not realise the complete weirdness that would be unleashed by his innocuous note. Feeling that an hour would be enough time for the 'idiots' to have expressed their wishes, he returned to the kitchen. Scotland was gone. England assumed his brother had either staggered off to some dark corner or was in a pub somewhere but the note was no longer on the fridge. He spun around looking wildly and found it - pinned by a kitchen knife to the opposite wall.

Most of what his fellow Nations had written had been crossed out by the final person to write on the sheet. England winced at the general bad spelling and awful writing. However, it was still more or less decipherable.

At the very top, just under Arthur's cheery note was written "hambuggers, beefbuggers, that cheese they put in buggers, bugger buns..." (Arthur visibly winced at each 'bugger') "hotdogs, hot dog buns, ketchup, mustard, fries, coke and potato chips" and then in capitals "THANKS ARTIE DUDE!" Under this in very small almost undecipherable writing were the words "rice and some noodles if this is not too much trouble, England-san. Sorry." The rest of the list was taken up by various Italian-sounding words of which England only recognised "pastaaa". There were also several French-sounding wines and the word 'tomatoes' was also emblazoned ten times.

The only thing not crossed out were the words at the bottom of the note in red ink and big, child-like writing: "Sunflowers, da? Vodka, da? Stolichnaya not Smirnoff. Also some chocolate. Spasiba Mr England. PS Do not buy Amerika's capitalist rubbish, da?" This was accompanied by a doodle of a big, goofy smiley face.

England shuddered, picked up the list, ignored the knife still embedded in the wall and went out.

The options for transport to the supermarket were not great.

Italy's bright red sportscar which England was convinced he would never get out of. Prussia and Denmark's stolen car - England did not feel brave enough to venture behind the wheel, Spain's hire car was slumped on its burst tyres so that was a no-no, so it was just America's Hummer.

England sighed and with much regret climbed (literally) into the Hummer's drivers seat. He slammed the door and thought "How hard can this be? Really?" He was over a thousand years old, surely he could drive an over-large vehicle through the streets of a small Scottish town?

He got as far as an obscure little lane called, incongruously, Bottom End Lane, which he was sure was something France had somehow arranged and was stuck.

The lane was approximately wide enough for a horse and cart but not for an American 'idiotmobile' as Arthur dubbed it. In fact, a horse and cart was heading up the lane towards him. England waved frantically at them and then gave up as the cart-driver stopped his horse and glared at him. "Like a bloody stand-off..." England muttered and then shouted, "This isn't my car! I'm not American!" he yelled apologetically. There was a horrid crunch as England attempted to put the vehicle in reverse gear and then promptly reversed into a lampost. "Sorry, sorry, sorry..." he yelled. "Bugger..." he said.

His salvation came in an unexpected form.

"England! Are you having difficulties?"

England looked around and then down and found three annoyingly familiar faces looking up at him. (Although to be fair, one wasn't annoying, but the other two definitely were.)

"Does it look like I'm having difficulties?" he asked as he attempted to put the bloody thing back in gear.

"Ja."

"Bugger." England said and opened the drivers door and climbed out - not without some difficulty. "I'm too old for this," he said. "Hello Lily, hello Switzerland, Austria..."

"You think you're old? I'm older than you..." Austria began.

"I can drive this for you if you're stuck," Switzerland told England.

"Of course I'm not stuck," England said but then looked at the horse and cart, the car and bus behind it and the growing audience of pedestrians. "Damn..." he said.

With utter humiliation, England was sat in the back of the despicable black 'monstrosity' while Switzerland drove (quite expertly) to the supermarket and then back to the castle.

Arthur had bought everything on the list as well as teabags, cheese (Switzerland insisted on it being the most expensive as England was paying), the cheapest baked beans on offer and apple pie - the closest thing to apple strudel that could be found in a Scottish supermarket.

Austria and Switzerland had argued the whole way back to the castle. Mainly over money. England had tried to ignore them but had got involved, much to his regret.

"The currency exchange was abysmal, wasn't it Vash?"

"Ja, but I told you to go to the bank I usually go to."

"Your bank tried to rob me last time - I only got 38 pounds and 15 pence! I got 39 pounds this time, still very very poor."

Vash was outraged. "My bank does not rob people!"

"It was outrageous," Austria continued ignoring Vash. "And the exchange rate is even worse today. If I'd waited until tomorrow I would have got more..."

"Like 50 pence more?" England said from the back seat.

Austria humphed and said, "Money is money... it pays to save..." he said.

"There's saving and there's being mean," Switzerland told him as he manoeuvred America's huge vehicle around a tiny roundabout.

"Ha! You can talk... You took some cheese back to the supermarket because it wasn't good enough - it was the cheapest brand!"

Lily - sat next to England - shook her head. She was obviously used to her brother and his neighbour arguing.

"Are they always like this?" England asked her.

She nodded, "Last Christmas was awful. Miss Hungary turned up but didn't stay because of their arguing. Mr Prussia prank-called bruder and told him he and Den were coming round with some 'friends' for a party. Switzerland nearly had a heart attack and Mr Austria just laughed. Miss Hungary admitted she'd thought it up and had given them bruder's new number and then bruder ..."

"How utterly ridiculous!" England exclaimed. "Like a bunch of kids... need to grow up." He omitted to tell them that every year, Christmas time at the Kirkland household descended into arguments and chaos with his brothers - none of whom particularly liked him.

The argument - going backwards and forwards all the way to the castle left all of them in quite a bad mood.

But what happened later was totally unexpected..

"I am going to make sure you are well away from these... these... maniacs!" Switzerland told Lily, and pushed her up the stairs, "Mr England where is your west wing? Which wing of this castle is the most secure?" He called back to England.

Arthur sighed, wing was certainly pushing it. "I don't think..." he began. But Switzerland was already going along each of the doors and checking to see which had locks. Lily stood with him, looking very annoyed.

"I really don't understand why you are so worried..." Arthur began but there was a commotion downstairs.

Arthur sighed and went downstairs to find a cacophony of noise.

"Mozart is king!" the author does not need to tell the reader who the speaker was in this instance.

"Mozart is a complete downer, man, can't you play anything else? What about Gershwin?" America said.

"Ja or Beethoven?" Prussia chimed in.

"Tchaikovsky was the best composer ever and Mr Pipe says so as well..."

"I will play only Mozart and perhaps some Strauss... all of you be quiet."

"Bloody specs is a boring fart."

"I do not like you, Gilbert and Mr Pipe does not like you either."

"Sibelius is rather good, isn't he Ber?"

"Hmmm..."

"What does he know? All he listens to is Abba."

"Woowoo livin' on a prayer!"

"That's not Beethoven."

"Bon Jovi rocks man!"

"Is he 19th century?"

"Yer gotta be kiddin' me."

"You're an idiot."

"I don't like you either and neither does Mr Pipe."

"Weird dude man, what's that purply stuff coming out from your head?"

"Wut?"

"I think you're all mad," England said as he stepped into the 'library'. A misnomer if ever there was one. There wasn't a book in the place. There was a large grand piano though - badly tuned - that Austria was sat at. The other Nations were in various locations around the room.

"I'm going to ring my Embassy," said America, "And get some decent DVDs sent here."

"There's no DVD player..." England muttered.

"I'm going to ring mine and tell them... that I'm awesome!" Prussia said.

"Except you're not... and you don't have an embassy..." England said.

"I'm going to ring China!" Russia said.

Most of them (England would try - much later - to remember who went where) walked out to argue over the one phone in the hallway. America yelled down his iphone but then realised there was no cellphone signal.

"I will use the phone first because I am biggest!" Russia was saying.

England shook his head sadly. It was going to be a long weekend.

France patted the sofa beside him, "Monsieur Angleterre, come sit with me and have a glass of wine."

"I don't bloody think so..."

But before he could rant at the Frenchman there was an ear-splitting scream from upstairs.

Everyone (England, later, could not remember who) ran up the stairs - Arthur at the back - like a stampede.

"I saw a ghost!" Lily stuttered and then promptly fainted.


	2. Chapter 2

The Vanishing

Chapter 2

"Someone get some water!" England said bending over Lily.

"Get away from her!" Switzerland said, pointing a rifle in the Englishman's face.

"I'm trying to bloody help, you stupid Swiss…"

Italy promptly appeared and threw a glass of water in Lily's face, trying to rouse her, and then squeaked and ran off as Switzerland turned his rifle on him.

"I saw a ghost!" Lily said again, sitting up. "Oh bruder!"

Switzerland frowned - not an unusual look for him - he was always unhappy about something, England thought, and then turned and fired his rifle several times.

"Well, I say, that was totally unreasonable!" England said. "My brother will not be happy… I bloody hope you're going to pay for all the damage!"

"Yes, he will… You can be sure that it won't be coming out of my expenses!" Austria said.

The other Nations crowded around, muttering and jostling. America stepped forward, "I think this is a job for a hero!"

"It's a shame we don't have one," Russia said, a creepy smile on his face. A purple haze around him.

"Eh?" America was about to complain - loudly but was interrupted by Switzerland.

"I'll get this so-called ghost," Switzerland said. "England - you take care of Lily and if anything happens to her, I will hold you responsible."

"Thanks…" England said resignedly.

Switzerland stepped back, reloaded his rifle and began a search.

"You need any help from a hero?" America called, conspicuously not looking at Russia as he said this.

"Do you have a gun?" Switzerland asked, not looking at him, but stalking down the corridor back to his and Lily's room.

"Well… no… Arthur said I wasn't allowed to bring one…"

"Kesese! America has to do what England tells him… what a kid!" Prussia snorted.

America bristled, "I don't need no gun to be an 'ero!" he exclaimed.

"You don't need a gun to be a hero," England corrected the American with a sigh.

"That's what I said!" America said, totally exasperated.

England was trying to get everyone to go downstairs - before one of them got shot by Switzerland. He doubted very much that there was a 'ghost', the girl had probably just seen a shadow or perhaps one of the idiot Nations was playing a prank and wouldn't own up to it.

"I'm going to ring the police," Finland said with a determined look on his face.

"I'm going to ring for a takeout," Prussia said, with a shrug.

"Pizzaaa," Italy said, white-faced and trembling.

"I'm going to get a beer," Denmark said, following Prussia.

"I'm going for a bath," Russia said with a creepy smile.

England sat at the head of the dining table, Scotland was dozing with his head on one side of him and America was stuffing himself with burgers (not 'buggers') on the other. On the other side of Scotland was Lily, who fed a jittery Feliciano hot chocolate with a steady hand. Further down, Finland and Sweden were talking quietly (or rather Finland was talking quietly and Sweden was looking at him) and Denmark seemed to be trying to break America out of his burger trance since Prussia had deserted him to 'bother Specs' in the music room. Japan was sat apart from the others, fiddling with his expensive looking mobile phone trying, desperately, to get a signal. Spain seemed, surprisingly, the only one doing anything even remotely productive and was cooking… something (England didn't ask what - but it seemed to consist of nothing but tomatoes.), whilst France was lounging moodily against the kitchen worktop, a last ray from the setting sun illuminating his golden hair as he took a sip from his wine glass.

"I say, chaps, Switzerland has been an awfully long time." England's words broke the quiet in the room and most of the Nations turned to look at him.

"Do you think something's happened to bruder?" Lily asked, her eyes widened innocently.

"I don't see why, but perhaps he needs some help with his wallet or something. Alfred," here England nudged America, "Stop stuffing your damn face and come with me, you too, France," he said.

"Moi, but mon cher…"

"Yes, you. Be quick about it, I need someone with me with half a brain."

"Oh mon Angleterre!" France set his wine glass down with some surprise. "I know you mean zis as an insult but I will take it as a compliment, ah yes!"

"If you must, come along chaps!" England led the way.

"Are we expecting trouble, dudes?" America asked him as they went up the stairs.

"I don't know… but I think trouble is afoot."

"A foot? Why not an 'an arm'?" America asked.

"It's just a saying," England sighed. "Switzerland! Are you alright?" England knocked politely on the door. When there was no reply, he exchanged a look with France, who moved him out of the way and knocked.

"Suisse, ma cher? It is only us, ah yes!"

France tried the door, which wouldn't budge, "It's locked!" he said.

"There aren't any locks. Someone's pushed something up against the door handle." England turned to America, "Alfred… would you mind?"

"Stand back, men," America rolled back his sleeves, a serious look on his face though he was probably enjoying all of this. France and England jumped back as America charged shoulder-first at the door.

The door caved in almost as soon as Alfred's shoulder hit it and the American hauled a chest of drawers out of the way so that they could all get in. "Switzy-dude?" America yelled.

"Nice work, Alfred, if he's anywhere within a three-mile radius he'll certainly know we're looking for him." England looked at the remains of the door with a sigh. "Well we can't make Lily sleep in a room without a door. I'll give her and Vash my room, since that's the only one that locks. Come on France, help me put these drawers back."

Once that particular task was done the three Nations stood and looked at each other.

"He isn't here," America observed.

"Indeed, dear boy. It appears we have something of a locked room mystery. Switzerland went in here, Lily saw a ghost, the door slams shut and…" Here England went over to the window. "The window doesn't open, some fool has painted it shut… so how did Switzerland vanish into thin air?"

"Vash would not have left his lovely Lily behind," France pointed out. "Monsieur Ghost must have taken him by surprise!"

America looked around nervously.

"Don't be daft, France, there's no such thing as bloody ghosts… stop shaking, Alfred."

"But Artie… what if he's right? One of us could be next."

"Don't be bloody ridiculous. I think the same as you, someone must have taken Vash. But it's no ghost. It must be …" he paused for effect. (There was none.) "… A Nation."

"A Nation, Artie? But which one?"

"Oui, you 'ave a suspect, mon cher?"

"Well," Arthur began. "Most of the people were in the library when Switzerland came up here with Lily…"

"Yes, they were all arguing, some of them very loudly…"

"Including you, Alfred… but then you all went to make a phone call… that was very convenient wasn't it? Create a diversion and then… wham!"

"George Michael kidnapped le Suisse?"

"No, you bloody French idiot."

"Who could kidnap Vash though - he had his rifle with him… oh wait!" Alfred bent down and physically lifted the hefty four-poster 18th century bed up in the air to reveal… the Swissman's beloved rifle.

"How did you do that? And more importantly, how did you know that was there?"

"I saw the snub sticking out."

"Hmm… indeed…" England walked up and down the room with his hands behind his back, unbeknown that France was copying him. "Let's see… who would have the wherewithal to get Switzerland… who doesn't like him?"

"Everybody," America said shortly, still holding up one end of the bed.

"You can put that down, Alfred. However, that rifle is an important clue."

"Yay! I found the first clue!" Alfred was inordinately pleased with himself.

England shook himself and tried again. "Where was everybody when Lily screamed?"

"I was trying to ring my embassy on my iPhone, man."

"What about Prussia?" England asked.

"He doesn't have an iPhone. He's been banned from having a phone since that incident last Christmas…" America said.

"What incident? Oh never mind…" England said.

"You are very lucky, mon ami that you are an island and you do not have to live next door to such vulgarity," France said with a sigh.

"Yes… quite... You're enough vulgarity for anyone."

"And what about l'Autriche?"

"He doesn't have one either - he has the cheapest phone that you can get…"

"Yes, but where was he when Lily screamed?"

"Dunno. Playing some rubbish…"

"You were with me, France, I remember that…" England said.

"Ah oui… it was beautiful. A moment to treasure."

England ignored him. "What about Russia? Where was he?" England couldn't imagine anyone other than Russia having the guts or the brawn to take down Switzerland armed with a gun.

"He has a shitty Nokia that plays some shitty music…"

"I think Le Russie could certainly pick up Mr Switzerland and…" France stopped, shuddering.

"Erm… yes, and Gilbert quite openly hated Switzerland, so I can see him pulling a prank on him. And Austria was arguing in the car with him and Russia's just downright creepy. Suspect everybody, gentlemen." England said.

"Oui, zere could be an accomplice as well!"

"Yes, quite right, frogface."

"My prime suspect is commie dude. He's creepy and he's always drunk!" America said.

"We need to question him right away," Arthur concluded. "Honestly, where the bloody hell is he when you need him?"

"Privet!"

The three Nations froze. Arthur was the first to look towards the door where Russia was stood with a fluffy bath robe on, a towel also wrapped around his head turban-style and his ever-present scarf around his neck. Somehow he still looked menacing.

"Russia… good evening. We were just going to look for you," England clasped his hands behind his back to stop them from shaking and hoped to God that Russia hadn't heard them talking.

"Da! I have been in the bath!" Russia said, rather unnecessarily Arthur thought. "It was a very big bath. I dropped my book in it though." Here Russia looked sad but then smiled as he looked around the room, "Did something just happen? I heard silly America shouting and a big crash."

"Da… I mean er yes. We're looking for Switzerland… we wondered if he was in here."

"It doesn't look as if he is, does it?" Russia said chirpily and then grinned, "Poor little Lily. I bet she is worried. Well, see you later." He waved goodbye and advanced down the hallway to get dressed (one would hope), his loud footsteps echoing. England waited until his bedroom door was closed and then turned to the others.

"Well he was a cool customer! Next destination is Russia's bathroom," he whispered.

"Yeah… like I need the bathroom," America said.

"No… I mean… oh go in there, then," England sighed, pointing to Switzerland's bathroom.

"Remember, Angleterre when we were potty-training him? We made such a cute family…" France went off into a reverie.

"I can hear you!" America yelled.

"I meant we go and check out Russia's alibi." England said.

"Yeah man, if he's only just got outta the bathtub then there'll be evidence, right Artie?" America all but yelled from the bathroom.

"Right. Come on, France," England had to pull France away from the chest of drawers which France was pulling open with great interest and pulling out a pair of tartan bloomers.

"Well I think it's safe to say Russia did take a bath," England said despondently.

The huge bath hadn't yet drained entirely and the water at the bottom (with pink bubbles) was only lukewarm when he plunged his hand into it.

"Ivan used to stay at my place when we were allies," France noted. "… and he always used all the hot water. He used to stay in for hours…"

"This proves nothing," England decided. "He could have got out and done something to Switzerland dressed in that ridiculous bathrobe. In fact he's the only person I can think of who would do this - in a bathrobe or not."

"Dudes!" America drew their attention, pointing to something on the radiator. "That's the dude's book, right? He said he dropped it in the bath."

"Da, I did!"

"Bloody damn and blast! How the bloody hell did you get there?" England, America and France all turned around as Russia stood in the doorway - now dressed but holding a piece of bannister.

"Why are you in my room?" Russia asked.

"We were… we were…" England stuttered - sounding very much like Latvia. They'd crept in and found the room empty… How the hell had Russia crept up on them?

America held up the book, "Is this yours, dude? It says Dusty… Dusty…" America gave up trying to read the author's name.

"Doestovsky," Russia said smoothly. He pointed the piece of bannister at England. "Why are you in my bathroom?" He repeated.

"We were checking the plumbing!" England said with a touch of genius.

"Crime and Punishment!" Russia said suddenly and quite chirpily.

"Whaaat?" England said, France tried to high-tail it out but was stopped by Russia's arm.

Russia pointed at the book, "That's what I was reading!"

"Well… time we were going…" England said and tried to duck under Russia's arm.

Russia stopped him, "I don't think so, Mr England… I think you and I need to do something…"

"Whaaaaaa…" England stuttered.

"America and France can go though…" Russia smiled chirpily.

"Yeah, see you later, alligator!" America ducked out, "I'm gonna ring my embassy and… oh is that pizza I can smell?"

"Au revoir, Angleterre, it was nice knowing you…" France said sadly.

Twenty minutes later… much to (some of) the Nations' relief, England emerged from Russia's room and staggered downstairs. His hair was wet, he was exhausted and his arms ached.

"Mon ami! Angleterre!" France threw his arms around his old rival, "What did zat nasty Russie do to you?"

England slumped in a chair, "Someone give me whisky," he said. "Dear Lord… never again…"

"Kesese! Did rapetruck Russia strike again?" Prussia's evil little face homed into view.

France handed England a large glass of whisky, and winced visibly, "Gilbert… you are sometimes very uncouth… poor Angleterre…"

"He made me… he made me…" England stuttered and stammered and took a large gulp of whisky.

America paused in biting a huge slice of pizza. Austria's piano-playing reached a crescendo in the background. Italy whimpered. Sweden put his hands over Lily's ears. Finland took out his 'naughty or nice list' and began writing. Denmark laughed and took a swig of his beer.

"… He made me rip out the bath panel and then he took the plumbing to bits… the man's mad!" England finally finished.

"Eeet is shocking!" France almost fell off his chair.

"Nutjob," America said and continued eating his pizza.

"Yer see… this is what I had to live with when I lived in the US-fucking-cold-as-hell-SR," Gilbert said.

"We should organise a search, men!" America said, swallowing the rest of his pizza.

"I am not your 'men'," England said.

"Sure you're not, Engerland," America said, deliberately mispronouncing England's name.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"We should split up and search this castle from top to bottom, who's with me?" America said.

Nobody answered.

"Aw come on, guys! We have to catch this dude before he gets someone else!"

"Why do you think he will get anyone else?" England said.

"I thought it was a ghost?" said someone else.

"Perhaps Switzerland just wandered off by himself?" someone else said.

"Bruder doesn't wander…" Lily said.

Nobody could imagine Switzerland 'wandering', apart from… Japan it seemed. "I think Mr Switzerland wanders around the mountains and yodels?" he said quietly.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Thankfully, America broke it (the silence that is). "Okay guys, who's with me?"

"For what?" England sighed.

"To split up and look for clues!"

"This isn't an episode of Scooby Doo!" England said, exasperated. Honestly when would the 'boy' realise he wasn't in a film/on television?

"It isn't?" This came from Russia, just entering the room, who looked almost upset at the revelation.

"Japan, Spain, my mates Gil and Den you're all with me!" America announced. "We'll take the top floors. England - you take Francy-pants, Italy, Australia and Russkie dude and search this floor and the dungeons."

"Wait, who the bloody hell died and made you king of the world?" England exclaimed. He then face-palmed when he realised he'd been left with the two most useless and cowardly nations who would surrender at the drop of a hat (or pants in France's case) and Austria would need to be surgically removed from his piano - with anaesthesia. At least Russia was formidable, if he was going to go somewhere scary he would take Russia and make him go first. But it was trying to make the big lunk actually 'do' anything.

As he was thinking these things, 'Australia' shouted through from the library over the top of some frantic piano-playing, "I AM NOT AUSTRALIA!"

"Yeah dude…" America said, not listening.

"I do not think, America-kun that…" Japan began.

"This is totally going to be hilarious, come on Den, bring that crate…" Gilbert swaggered out.

Russia growled, watching the Prussian leave, "Can I be on America's team?" he asked.

"So you can hit Prussia?" England asked.

"Da!" Russia smiled creepily.

"In that case, no."

Russia's smile faded.

"What about us?" Finland said to America, pointing at Sweden. "Don't we count? I held Russia off in the Winter War."

Russia snarled again at the little Finnish man.

Finland backed off, straight into Sweden who in turn glared at Russia. "I mean.. Er… we've been friends since then haven't we? I mean I've been neutral…" Finland said quickly.

Russia's purple haze left him as quick as it had appeared but he still glared at Sweden.

"You can look after Lily, I would imagine you're the only people here who could be trusted," England said with a shudder. Finland seemed placated by this, but Sweden's stoic expression did not waver.

America was already heading out of the door with his 'team'. Spain was looking very confused, he carried his pot of tomato-something or other and was still wearing his apron, Denmark hauled a crate of beer after Prussia who was whistling loudly, Japan bowed to England and backed out.

"Little weirdo…" England muttered.

"Da, he is… I do not like him," Russia said simply.

England shuddered and turned to his 'team'. Two cowards and a psychopath, lovely. "Austria? Are you with us?" He called, hopefully. The Austrian was pretty useless in a fight - although he could use a sword and was no coward, but he at least was intelligent enough not to miss important clues.

"Nein! I will take no part in this ridiculous enterprise!" Austria shouted back from the other room.

"You don't want to find Switzerland?" Russia called. "I think that is very suspect, England. I think as Mr Austria and Mr Switzerland don't like each other, we could say that Mr Austria is the one who grabbed Mr Switzerland and…" Russia began to go into elaborate detail of the way in which Austria could have disposed of Switzerland's body.

Lily burst into tears. Finland put his arms around her. Sweden put on the kettle. Italy let out a small sob and clung to, weirdly, France, who went very pale.

"I don't think there's any need for that, Russia," England said in his sternest voice.

"You don't?" Russia seemed amazed. "I think Mr Austria could easily have killed Mr Switzerland. They have hated each other for centuries."

"Hmm… you seem very insistent about this, Russia," England said suspiciously.

"Da! I am!" Russia said chirpily. "I don't like Mr Austria," he said.

"You don't like anyone though, do you?" England said as they headed out of the door. He was trying to think how on earth he could get rid of Russia without looking as if he were trying to get rid of Russia.

But Russia tagged along his heels, "Nyet… only Lily, she's nice. And my Toris but he ran away…" Russia screwed up his eyes as he tried to think.

"Anyway, France and Italy you come with me… Russia perhaps if you go that way…"

"Nyet, I'll stay with you… I don't trust you, England," Russia said brightly.

England was appalled. (He was really going to spend the whole weekend appalled, to be honest.) To be seen as a suspect by that lunatic. He was speechless.

"Right… well… I suppose we'd better go and look for Switzerland. We'll start with this floor," England said and tried to steer a whining, shaking Italy, a mooching France and a lumbering Russian (now clutching his new piece of bathroom plumbing) out of the 'library/music room' towards the hallway.

"I think Mr Switzerland is probably in pieces," Russia said, a creepy smile on his face. "I bet we will find his head in a bit."

England tried to ignore Russia's obvious enthusiasm, "Come on, chaps. Let's check out the dining room," he said.

"You think Switzerland's head is in there?" Russia asked. "I'm hungry…" he added, rubbing his stomach, "When are we going to eat?" Anything less than 6000 calories a day was starvation diet for the Russian and he'd consumed much less than that on this particular day.

"Erm well…" Arthur stuttered.

"I could just eat… something… perhaps Italian…" Russia looked around and unfortunately his eyes rested on the small Italian, who leapt behind France. It would be hoped that Russia was thinking of Italian _food_. But he didn't say this.

England was about to reply to this but was stopped short by an ear-piercing scream that emanated from one of the upper floors.

"What the hell!" came an American voice and a further yell and another scream.

There was a stampede and then Denmark and Prussia came sliding down the bannister, the former clutching a crate of beer to his chest. Both were white-faced and wild-looking.

"What's going on?" England asked.

"It's a fucking huge demon from hell!" Gilbert said and plucked a beer from the crate, opened it and took a big gulp.

"A demon? How preposterous!" England exclaimed and shook his head.

"Who was it? Azgoroth? Beelzebub? Crowley?" Russia asked and then seeing his fellow Nations' enquiring looks (read that as 'open-mouthed and shocked') frowned and shut up.

"I don't fucking know! It didn't leave a calling card!" Prussia said.

"It had red eyes and big fangs," Denmark butted in.

"What a load of rubbish," England said, shaking his head.

Russia held up a hand, "Hold on… question…" he began to say.

But he was interrupted by a yell .

Apparently, the 'hero' was having trouble. "Someone help us!"

"Don't go up there, man," Prussia said, laying a restraining hand on England's arm.

England shook him off, "Silly little man. This is utterly preposterous. Demon indeed," he huffed.

"Da! It is silly. They only ever visit me at night! I scared the last one who visited me," Russia looked quite sad at this, and then he called up the stairs, "Drekavac? Is that you? I'm sorry I laughed at your funny tail and horns…"

"Dear Lord…" Arthur said.

Italy whimpered, France took a large glug of wine. Denmark was backing away towards the kitchen and what he hoped was the safety of his fellow Nordics - Sweden and Finland. Prussia looked appalled, "Nutjob," he muttered.

However, before England could even go upstairs and save America (wouldn't that just be beautiful, he thought), America and Japan came stumbling down the stairs almost running over the Englishman.

"I say!" England exclaimed.

Following America and Japan could only be described as a furry rug with legs. And red eyes. And teeth. Lots of teeth.

"It's just a dog," England said.

"It's not 'just a dog'! It's evil!" America shouted, cowering behind England.

"Hai! A demon from the pits of hell out for revenge, I have heard of such things…" Japan said, gathering up his coat and shoes. "I am leaving, this is a cursed house!"

The noise coming from the 'demon' was incredible. The 'demon' was just 25 cm high and weighed all of 9 kgs but the sound coming from it reverberated around the room.

"That's not any demon I know," Russia said slowly.

England jumped back as the 'demon' snapped at his ankles and then it turned its attention to Prussia's feet. He barely noticed as Japan ran out the door, slamming it behind him, and the sound of Italy's car starting filled the air. Japan had clearly just taken the Italian's sports car and left.

"Fucking 'ell!" Prussia leapt into Denmark's arms, who in turn ran for the kitchen, his 'awesome' friend clinging to his neck.

Russia bent down to stroke the animal, "Privet, little doggy. Why are you wearing a coat? Are you cold?" he asked.

The demon was wearing a 'coat' - in a rather fetching tartan. It snapped at Russia's hand, barely missing his fingers.

Russia jumped back and pulled out a large piece of lead piping, "I don't like you!" he told the dog and approached it - albeit it quite cautiously.

The dog leapt and grabbed the metal pipe between its teeth and proceeded to run round and round the room growling viciously.

"That's my pipe!" Russia exclaimed. "England, tell your dog to drop my pipe!"

England jumped onto a sofa as the dog dropped Russia's pipe and snapped at his ankles. "It's not my dog!"

Five minutes later the Nations found themselves standing on the kitchen table protecting their respective ankles whilst the 'demon' ran round and round snapping and snarling.

"This is not what being a superpower is all about!" Alfred all but shouted.

For once, everybody agreed.

"We can't stay up here all day," Arthur said, quite obviously.

They were actually saved by an unexpected source.

Scotland suddenly lifted his head from the table, frowned at them blearily, bent down, picked up the 'dog' and stroked it. "This's ma wee Bertie!" he slurred and then his head dropped and he began snoring again.

"I'm going to kill it…" Russia announced, jumping off the table, brandishing his pipe.

England put a hand on his arm (shuddering as he did so). "Much as I don't like the little swine…" here the dog, nestled in Scotland's arms, snarled at him, "… You can't kill a little dog."

"It is not a dog… it is an evil demon summoned from the pits of hell," Russia said confidently.

"Heroes don't kill little dude dogs, man!" America said, finally getting down from the table.

"I am not a hero," Russia said simply and quite proudly.

"Well you can't kill the dog," England said simply, "My brother would not be happy."

"I am not scared of Scotland," Russia said, however, he looked at the twitching Scotsman with trepidation.

"He'll turn up at your house in his kilt, you really really don't want that," England said.

"Nah man, you don't." America added.

"Non, eet ees 'orrible…"

"Jeez man, I never recovered last time…"

"I still have nightmares."

Russia frowned and lowered his pipe, glancing at the Scotsman warily.

"Right dudes, let's all split up and look for clues… again…" America began.

"No, I think we should all stick together. Japan has gone and taken the only roadworthy vehicle…" England began.

"Hey! What about mine and Den's most excellent car?"

"You mean that one with the bumper hanging off?"

"Hmm, I see what you mean…"

"What about my awesome truck, dude England?" America said.

"That heap of crap isn't roadworthy, I've seen better at car auctions," Prussia said.

"Indeed. I say we ring the police." England said.

"Aw man. That totally sucks. That's boring!" America slumped down in a seat, ignored 'Bertie' who snarled at him and picked disconsolately at his sheriff's star.

"Why are you wearing that star?" England asked.

He didn't get an answer as someone (England wasn't sure who and never got an answer either when he asked later) came charging in and told him that the telephone wasn't working - the line had been cut.

"What the bloody hell?" England stormed out and picked up the phone in the hall.

It was dead. And the cable running to the receiver had been sliced neatly in two.


End file.
